Stuck with the Damaged Hero (Everwood #3)

1. The List That Wasnt

The List That Wasn't

Falon

Iwas going to kill him. It wasn’t funny. Five o’clock in the morning was not morning. At five o’clock, someone had better be dying. I scowl at the window where, currently, Frank, my time-impaired rooster, is crowing at the top of his lungs.

“Frank,” I yell and throw a pillow at the window, which does absolutely nothing.

I put my other pillow over my head and manage to drown out enough of the noise that I can almost pretend I’m not imagining he is a yummy pot of soup.

Just twenty more minutes. That’s all I want, plus or minus an hour or two.

I groan in relief when he stops, and the house goes quiet.

Or at least I thought, but as luck would have it, Frank was the least of my noise issues. Because the moment he finally decides to stop, the fire alarm goes off.

“Really, it’s five-thirty in the morning,” I yell to no one.

It isn’t the gentle beep of a low battery or the tentative chirp of a system test. No, this is the full-throated, ear-splitting shriek of a smoke detector convinced the house is burning down.

It isn't.

I knew it isn't, because I'd installed the stupid thing myself last night after watching a YouTube video titled "Fire Safety for Beginners.

" The electrician had done the wiring. I wasn't that brave, but I'd been so sure I could handle the rest. Mount the brackets, connect the units, test them, call it a win.

Except I must've wired something wrong, or breathed on it the wrong way. Or offended it in some past life, because now it was screaming like I'd set the kitchen on fire when all I'd done was exist in my own house.

I jolt upright, tangled in my blanket burrito, and promptly trip over my slippers trying to get out of bed. My knee hits the floor. My elbow hits the nightstand. The lamp wobbles but, miraculously, and thankfully, it doesn't fall.

Aries, mom’s 12-year-old hound with an inch and a half overbite, who wanted to sleep in the house last night, whines and scratches at the door, wanting to get away from the chaos and noise.

“I know, Aries, I’m on it.” I manage to open the bedroom door without another incident and let her out. For a geriatric dog, she is fast when she wants out. I hear her pound down the stairs and out of the doggie door as if her life depends on it.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" I shout at the ceiling, as if the alarm cares about what I’m doing.

I stumble down the hallway, one slipper on, one slipper somewhere back in the bedroom doing its own thing. The old Anderson farmhouse creaks under my feet, the floorboards groaning in solidarity.

The alarm blares in the kitchen. The one room I hadn't finished painting yet, where half the cabinet doors are still leaning against the wall because I'd decided to sand them "this weekend" three weekends ago.

I drag a chair over, climb up, and jab the reset button.

Silence.

Blessed, beautiful, ringing-in-my-ears silence.

I stand there for a second, gripping the back of the chair, my heart still pounding. My hair is tragic. My T-shirt, an old ranch supply freebie that said, "Got Hay?" is twisted halfway around my torso. And I am pretty sure I've just aged five years.

"You're doing great, Falon," I mutter. "Really killing it."

The house just sits there with its peeling wallpaper and unfinished projects, silently reminding me that I'd taken on way more than I could chew.

But I don't have time to spiral about it.

I have two ranches to run, a to-do list that has grown sentient and demanding, and approximately zero margin for error.

The Williams Ranch, my parents' place, still needs me even though Dad keeps insisting he is "fine" and "doesn't need help.

" Spoiler: he does. And the Anderson Ranch, my ranch now, the one I'd bought on a sweetheart deal from Miss Donna before she moved back east, needs me even more.

Which meant no time for existential crises about smoke detectors or whether I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

I climb down from the chair, find my other slipper, and grab my phone from the counter.

One missed call. Mom.

And a voicemail.

I press play, already pulling my hair into a ponytail.

"Hey, sweetie. Nothing urgent, but could you swing by this morning if you have time? I just... well, I'd love to see you. Let me know."

I frown. Mom doesn't do "stop-bys." She is the queen of self-sufficiency, the woman who'd taught me how to change a tire, balance a budget, and bake a pie.

If she is asking me to come over, it isn't casual.

I glance at the clock. Six-fifteen. I could shower, throw on something that didn't scream "I just wrestled a fire alarm," and still make it to her place by seven-thirty. No problem.

The feed store doesn't open until eight anyway.

I grab my keys, my list, and what was left of my dignity, hoping nobody would notice I’d barely pulled myself together, and head out the door.

Now I was pulling into Williams Ranch, the place I’d grown up, still smelling like home, with my mental to-do list rearranging itself like doomed Tetris blocks.

The porch light is on even though it is mid-morning. Dad's truck sits crooked in the gravel, one tire nudged up against the flower bed Mom had been threatening to expand for three years. I smile despite myself. Some things never change.

I grab my keys and head up the steps, the boards creaking in all the familiar places. Before I can knock, the door swings open.

"Oh, good, you're here." Mom stands in her apron, flour dusting one shoulder, hair pulled back in a clip that was doing its best but losing the battle. She looks...frazzled. That is new. Mom doesn't do frazzled.

"What's wrong?" I ask, stepping inside.

"Nothing's wrong." She waves me toward the kitchen, already moving. "I just thought you might want to pick up a few things in town, and I didn't want to bother you, but since you're here?—"

"Mom."

She pauses, fixing me with the look she uses before downplaying something important.

I cross my arms. "What's going on?"

"Your father tried to hobble out to the barn this morning."

My stomach drops. "Mom. He's on crutches. He's not supposed to?—"

"I know," she says, her voice tight. "I told him. He said the cast was 'just a precaution,' that he was 'perfectly capable,' and that I was 'fussing for no reason.' He's resting now. But Falon, he can’t keep doing this. The doctor said six weeks, but it’s only been three."

"I know what the doctor said." I soften my tone, stepping closer. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Stubborn, but fine." She manages a small smile. "I just... I hate asking you to do more. You're already doing so much with the Anderson place, and I don't want you to feel like?—"

"Mom. Stop." I reach for her hand. "Give me the list."

"There's no list."

"There's always a list."

She laughs, a little breathless, and pulls a folded piece of paper from her apron. "Just a few things. Feed store, garden center, and the library?—"

Her phone buzzes on the counter. She glances at it, and she gets a worried smile on her face.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Tyler." She picks up the phone, already stepping toward the hallway. "I should take this."

My chest tightens. Tyler. My brother, halfway across the world, is checking in with texts that came in bursts and then go silent for days. He'd been deployed for months now, and every call feels like holding my breath until I know he is okay.

Mom presses the phone to her ear. "Hey, sweetie. Yes, I'm—" She glances at me, then moves a few steps farther down the hall. Not far enough.

I turn toward the pantry, pretending to inventory what they have. Pasta. Canned tomatoes. A half-empty bag of rice that probably should've been tossed a month ago.

Mom's voice drifts back, lighter now. Conversational.

"Nothing new here, really. Kevin’s back with his shiny new accounting degree." A pause. "I know, right? Jeremy and his new bride, Alyssa, moved back east for Jeremy's job. Other than that, life is as usual."

Why did she tell Tyler about Kevin? I don’t know how, but Tyler has managed to hover even from overseas. Now that he knows Kevin was back, he’ll be hovering even more than usual. This’ll be fun.

Kevin Bennett has been a thorn in my side since high school; I thought his attention was flattering instead of... persistent. Then I’d learned the truth: I would have been just another notch. I was relieved when he left for college. Hoped he'd found someone else to fixate on. Apparently not.

Mom’s tone stays easy. "Your dad’s okay. Stubborn. Falon's been a saint, running back and forth between here and the Anderson place. I can’t imagine what we'd do without her."

I swallow the lump in my throat, staring at the pantry shelves. She states it like I’ve been doing them a favor. I’ve been taking care of the ranch since Tyler left, but now that dad’s hurt, it’s like I’ve done something new.

"Alright, honey. You take care of yourself. Call when you can. Love you."

She ends the call and stands with her phone still in her hand.

I step into the hallway. "Tyler, okay?"

Mom smiles, briefly. "He's fine. Just checking in. He misses home."

I nod, then hesitate. "Did he... say anything about Bo?"

Mom's eyebrows lift slightly. "Bo Gates?" She gives me a cat-ate-the-canary grin.

"Yeah." I try to sound casual. "We haven't heard from him since Anthony's funeral. He looked a little rough around the edges."

Mom's expression gentles. "Tyler didn't mention him. Why? You thinking about reaching out?"

"No. I just—" I shrug. "I don't know. It's been a while, that's all."

I hate the silence that follows. The way it feels like Mom is reading between every line I’m not saying.

"Well," she says finally, "if you do hear from him, let me know. It’s been a while."

I nod, shoving the thought away.

Mom hands me the list, her warm, motherly smile still tinged with knowing that I still hold a flame for him. "You don't have to get everything today. Just... whatever's easy."

"I'll get it all." I fold the paper and tuck it into my pocket. "Anything else?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No. Just... be careful, okay?"

I frown. "It's the feed store, Mom. Not a war zone."

"I know." But her eyes hold something softer. Something that looks like worry wrapped in love.

"I'll be back later," I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Tell Dad to stop being ridiculous."

"I'll add it to the list."

I am halfway to the truck when my phone buzzes. A text from Daisy, one of my two closest friends.

Coffee later? I have GOSSIP.

I smile and type back: Define gossip.

It comes with scandal potential.

You're ridiculous. Yes. After errands.

I climb into the truck and stare at the list in my hand.

Feed store. Hardware store. Groceries.

Simple. Easy. Nothing complicated about any of it.

I shove the key into the ignition and pull out of the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

After the early wake up call, thanks to Frank, I am happy to just be doing errands. Just another morning in Everwood.

But as I pull out of the drive, my mind wanders back to Bo. It’s been months since we’ve heard anything. I tried to tell myself it was nothing to worry about. But my heart hoped I could see him one more time, just to make sure.